


rubies as red as pomegranates

by lay_me_gently_in_the_cold_dark_earth



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Pre-Canon, and a determined persephone, and cold hades, and knows it, basically there's the progression of their relationship, but everything i write is short, this is pretty short, told by persephone, we got soft hades, who doesn't deserve this shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lay_me_gently_in_the_cold_dark_earth/pseuds/lay_me_gently_in_the_cold_dark_earth
Summary: It wasn’t always like this. When he came to her in the garden, the lines of his face were gentle and earnest, and his back had yet to bend, to stoop over with the weight of his kingdom. His voice was soft and his touches were gentle as he stretched out his arms to her, asking for everything and expecting nothing.
Relationships: Hades/Persephone (Hadestown)
Kudos: 20





	rubies as red as pomegranates

The garden was home. It was full of life and filled her with warmth and light, leaving her at peace, wanting for nothing. She misses it. Flowers grew, spiraling with the youth she once had, their vitality only rivaling that of the dancing fireflies, the chanting cicadas, and the rustling leaves. Underground is nothing like it. Here, the ground is cold and dark, menacingly frigid, and she shivers. There is a kind of beauty in its aloof danger, but it is not the kind she craves. Rubies and emeralds cut harshly grow and glow, embedded in damp cave walls. When her fingers trace the edges of a ruby, its edges slices the outermost layer of her skin. She doesn’t feel anything. She never feels much these days. His voice rings throughout the cavern, and she jolts, the jewel further cutting through her finger. She barely feels that either.

“Don’t touch those,” he commands. Glaring at him, she tears it from the wall even though her fingers screams as the sharp edges slice it, no longer an imperceptible incision. She doesn’t even like rubies, but she drops it in her pocket and winds up her finger in her green dress. She brings her flask up to her lips, drinking deeply, and defiantly meets his glowering stare until he turns away sharply.

“We’re wasting time,” he spits out, and she knows she’s won. She holds her head high as they descend futher into the darkness.

The only light in the cave comes from the glowing jewels, and their edged light is nothing like the sun above. The sun was always gentle and warm, its touch as soft as a mothers’. She misses home. She misses the cheerful chirping of the birds, the gentle swishing of an autumn wind, the swirling of leaves, speckled orange and red by nature, the truest artist. Here, it is silent, silent save for the muffled, distand sound of harsh orders, the constant ringing of pickaxes, the ever-present hum of machinery. It is not a natural sound. It is cold and impersonal and nothing like the world above. She forces herself to trudge on, still shivering.

The cave opens up to a larger cavern, lightbulbs strung across the wide expanse. She shields her eyes from their harsh light, blinking the dark spots from her vision. After the darkness of the cramped cave, the lightbulbs are blinding, hurling beams of light at the sharp, rocky walls. It does nothing to warm her, and she still shivers.

“What did you do?” she asks, blinking rapidly. The light feels artificial and fake, too bright and cold.

“Do you like it?” he asks from behind her, his voice a low rumbling sound, and it hits her that this is for her, that all of this is because of  _ her _ . She doesn’t answer, and in her silence, he comes closer to her, reaching to cup her face. She catches his hand, looking away. 

She doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, frozen in silence, but he eventually turns and walks away. When he finally does, she exhales, shakily. She closes her eyes.  _ Just six months, _ she thinks.  _ Just make it through these six months, and you’ll be fine.  _ It sounds fake, even to her.

It wasn’t always like this. When he came to her in the garden, the lines of his face were gentle and earnest, and his back had yet to bend, to stoop over with the weight of his kingdom. His voice was soft and his touches were gentle as he stretched out his arms to her, asking for everything and expecting nothing. When she offered him the single carnation she held in her hand, he looked at it with such wonder and softness, and suddenly all that awe and wonder was directed towards her. How could she have said no?

When she came underground with him, his first gift to her was a ruby necklace. It was different from anything she had ever seen before, and she was entranced. The dark stones were small and shaped like pomegranate seeds, but the metal shards they were set in were angled and sharp. When he first fastened it around her neck, she bit her lip. The harsh edges pricked her skin, and the metal was far too cold to the touch. Still, she smiled. She loved him, and he had given it to her, so she had to love it as well. And it really was beautiful in its own way. She later had the edges filed down, but it never sat right on her neck, and soon she stopped wearing it altogether. 

She started noticing more and more things after that, like how all the workers kept their heads down, how they only spoke to themselves and never each other. She started noticing how Hades rarely ever spoke to them, and when he did, it was always as a king and never as one of them. That was about the time she noticed how long and hard they worked. There was always the constant sound of pikaxes ringing, even as she slept. Her skin grew colder at the realization, and her jewelry sat heavy on her skin. 

At first she tried to talk to Hades about it, to try to change things, but he always turned away when she brought it up. She kept bringing it up, even when things devolved into screaming matches. She had never been yelled at before, never done anything to warrant it, but she still held her ground. Their arguments continued, and she stopped wearing his jewelry. It made her sick to look at it, and she cast it all off after a particularly bad fight. The arguments never changed anything, and she eventually grew weary of them until they stopped talking about it, silently agreeing to keep their distance from each other.

It was always a calculated game with him, and she learned to play. He was a king, one who built towers of promises and roads of riches that could never be touched by anyone but him. She learned to help the workers in her own way, giving them hope and a reason to keep moving forward. They had all forgotten their names, but she gave them new ones, even if they would never say hers. In the spring she would be free, but for now, she would work in the shadows, dealing in moonlight and autumn leaves, wind and flowers, sun and sky.

It was a calculated game, one she would play until his sharp edges wore her down, until her ending determination outlasted his, until even he became tired of the monotonous moves. He had set the rules, but she would win the game of his making. She was a force of nature, and she would not be stopped.


End file.
